


Death is the Beginning

by black_on_white



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Depression, Suicide, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 05:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_on_white/pseuds/black_on_white
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just the prelude to an angst story I'm writing. Please leave comments and enjoy reading!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death is the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> A teen is suffering through his real life, but when it ends, is it really the end?

It all started with the most stupid, idiotic, mistake that a six year old kid could make. I had been a naïve child; always stubborn unless given what I wanted. I can't remember how many times I had coaxed my parents out of a few dollars just so I could purchase some sort of candy or other trinket. I had been a scrawny little boy, all skin and bone. My eyes were an unmistakable green, my face was clear except for the freckles that provided emphasis on my bright green eyes, My hair was black, and cropped down to a short buzz-cut.  
Anyway, I had been waiting for the newest TV plug-in video game that was being produced by Namco. It had featured the original Pacman, Dig-Dug, and a bunch of other singular joystick games all on this mini player that plugged into the TV through the three auxiliary receptacles.  
My Mother and I were in Super-Target, scanning the shelves for the dreaded 'console', when I saw the last one in someone other person's cart. I had snatched it out of the cart so fast, my little hand darting out and grabbing it from the cart, and pulling it into my sweatshirt. My mother, not knowing what I had done, moved on to the check out, where she paid for everything that didn't include my secret little game box. We walked outside of the store, my small and delicate hand clasped firmly in her larger hand, then she saw me pull out the game box from the depths of my sweatshirt.  
I had never seen my Mother so angry or disappointed than when she found out I had taken the Namco device. She immediately swatted the device out of my hand and picked it up off the floor of the car. She then went over to my side of the car and yanked me out the side door, and pulled me towards the entrance of the store where I would return the dreaded game and apologize for what I'd done. We never made it to the doors though, my Mother, in her anger, forgot to check for oncoming cars and was slammed straight on by a navy blue, GM Aurora 2001.  
Neither of us had ever seen the car approaching so I was shocked when she was yanked away from my grasp, almost pulling me into the line of fire with her. She had hit the windshield dead on and flew up and over the hood of the car as the side-view mirror clocked me on the side of the head. I don't remember much about what happened those couple hours after the incident because the hit from the car had knocked me out cold. The next thing I remember after is waking up to a flashlight being shined in my eye by a young female doctor who looked no older than twenty-five years old. She had blond hair that was tied back into a messy ponytail, strands of her hair had begun to come out of place and their were little wisps of hair following the front of her hair and lining down her scalp.  
As it turns out, I had been at the hospital for a total of four days in a somewhat comatose state. I had been lucky; my mother, not so much. She had several lacerations to her spine and 3 broken ribs, one of which had pierced the inner lining of her chest and she was now bleeding heavily on the inside of her chest. It was only a matter of time until her lungs began to drown in the blood that was filling up her insides. Not only that, but her neck was close to being fractured, and her humerus had been completely split into a bunch of small fragments, and who the hell even knew what was happening inside her severely concussed cranium that the skin on top had been split so deeply you could begin to see a small bit of her skull.  
So even if my mom did wake up, she would be severely challenged in her head and wouldn't be able to move very well; and this all depended on whether or not she drowned in her own blood. As soon as the Doctors had told me what was happening with my Mother, I shad strained to sit up and jump out of bed. I vaguely remember them sedating me and I clearly remember waking up tied down to the bed so that I wouldn't hurt myself even more pushing myself too hard. The whole experience was wretched, and the ending was nothing short of that.  
The most blear memory I have as a child was the day that a group of doctors and nurses came into my room with some grim and blank looks on their faces. My mother had died, and I was left all alone with my injuries. I was informed that I had no living relatives, which made sense because I had never met anyone I was related to except for my mother; my father had left when I was born, apparently he couldn't take all the crap that came with raising a baby, or at least that's what my mom had always said. The rest of that faithful day I spent eating pudding cups and watching Power Rangers on VCR. I will never, ever forget what happened, and I will never stop blaming myself for what I had done that ended up killing my mother.  
All that happened after that was a tale that no one could ever believe, hell, even I have trouble believing it and I was the one who endured it all!After I was released from the hospital, the frazzled blonde nurse had taken me home with her where she lived with just her boyfriend. Little did I know, that boyfriend was going to cause me a lot of trouble in the future.  
The first thing you have to know about the nurse's boyfriend was that he wasn't a very nice guy. When I was first brought to my new home I was welcomed by that boyfriend, whose name I later found out was Jack, and his friends who were all playing poker in the living room. Before I get too far ahead of myself, let me explain that the nurse lived in a very expensive house; in fact, I would go so far as to call it a manor now. Back to the story, Jack and his old Navy comrades were playing poker at the circular table which sat in the middle of the room. He had an about three day old beard, which I remembered was very prickly whenever he hugged me to keep up appearances.  
He had coarse black hair that was always greased back as if he were in some sort of old film with Greasers and Jocks. On that specific day, he wore a cut-off, sleeveless, jean jacket with a dirty white shirt underneath. The white shirt had been stained with beer, perspiration, food, and other unhygienic items that made the shirt seem not white, but maybe a bit yellow or brown. The other things he wore included a pair of very ripped jeans ( which looked like they had been run over with a lawnmower), and an old pair of steel-toed boots. The boots were the most memorable because they were stained with dirt, mud, traces of wood chips, and what very well may have been blood spatters.  
Those boots were a major part of my upbringing, because whenever I had acted out or wrongly, he kicked me in the gut with the tip of those boots. Then he would beat the living daylights out of me with any blunt object he could find near him. It ranged from bats, beer bottles, and to other things such as rulers, pots, and pans. My upbringing wasn't a very good one, but that nurse really did try to take care of me, despite the major setback known as her boyfriend Jack.  
Despite Jack, my life with the young nurse known as Jane was a very respectable and learning experience. Jane had been a good 'mother' to me, and never once failed to have faith in me even when I was diagnosed with ADHD, severe Clinical Depression, Anxiety, and OCD. Sure Jack didn't appreciate it when the medical bills for my medications for each month made themselves known, but, it was just all part of the system. When I was seven years old, I returned to school at a shady little place known as Sunshine Academy for Exceptional Boys and Girls. I was placed into third grade, a little bit ahead of what I should have been, even despite all the medical setbacks.  
My whole third grade year was lonely and nonchalant, I was an outsider of the school not only because of my age difference, but because all the parents and teachers had told the other kids what had happened to me. All the other children had avoided me like the plague, so I was left to play with by myself in the dirt or in the classroom with what little toys and other objects that weren't being used by the other kids.  
As I went through each grade, things got better bit by bit; that is until my junior year of High School. By then I had one friend, and her name was Angela. She was a writer, and a good one at that; she was always writing these short stories and fanfictions about some TV shows we watched. I had met her in eighth grade, the year I pledged that I would never leave the house except to go to school. The pledge didn't last very long because we were always outside. I still retained my pale, freckly skin, but at least I was outside and away from the house where Jack could beat me.  
We shared everything with each other, like what was happening at home, who we liked, she was the person I trusted the most. Sure we had our disagreements, but that never stopped us from hanging out or playing pranks together on teachers and fellow students. I trusted her more than I trusted Jane, and that was a big thing. It all changed junior year in High School, the year she got a boyfriend.  
It's not like I was jealous of her date, whose name I recall was Nick, I thought of her as a sister that I had never had. It was all because she started hanging out with me less and less. It was a cold and painful process, I sat and watched as she slowly drifted away from me and molded into the more 'popular' crowd. Once again, I was left alone, afraid and depressed. It was only a short time until rumors were spreading that she had 'done it' with Nick. Those rumors were true and it hurt even more. The least she could have done was texted me to keep me up with all the tings happening in her life. The day she 'proved her allegiance' to the popular crowd, was the last day I ever lived to see.  
I had been standing in the middle of the lunch line when she and a group of other popular kids walked up behind me and tripped me, causing me to fall straight forward and onto my tray of food. At first, I had no idea how to react; I sat up on the floor as my brain began to register what exactly had just happened. After I figured out that Angela had tripped me, I got up and ran straight to my locker. In my locker I found two things: a clean shirt (which I put on right in the middle of the hallway, and a pair of exacto-knives which I had stolen from the art room.  
I then promptly made my way past the laughing group of people in the cafeteria and into the boy's lavatory. I glided in past a pack of seniors and into a bathroom stall, where I bawled my eyes out. I wasn't quiet either, but no one knocked or told anyone about it. I skipped my next class, which was chemistry, as I sat in the stall. I thought about my past and everything I had ever done. I thought about the accident and how it was my fault, I thought about my lonely school life, I thought about the day I had met Angela and how Jack had beat me. After reviewing my pathetic little life, I decided to end it all. I cut myself vertically down the veins on my wrists, the blood immediately flowing from the wounds and puddling up on the floor.  
Little did I know, that what I thought would end my life, was only the beginning of what was to come.


End file.
